Cautious Optimism
by Aerial312
Summary: Tag to 10x10 (You Better Watch Out). Ziva shares a cocktail with Tony and his father after the movie.


Ziva had tried to refuse when Senior invited her to join them back at Tony's apartment for a cocktail after the movie. It was not his invitation to make, and he knew it, commenting, "You'll finally get to see that apartment of his. Junior, I still can't believe that this beautiful girl has never been to your apartment." It just seemed wrong to accept an invitation from his father when Tony himself had never invited her over. She was partway through a polite refusal, when she caught her partner's eye. It seemed as if he wanted her to accept, so she changed course at his father's next protestation, and said, "Okay, twist my hand-"

"Arm," Tony smirked.

"Whatever," she smiled, rolling her eyes at him.

Upon her arrival at the apartment, Senior made martinis—strong martinis—and she sat on the couch listening as he told all sorts of crazy stories—maybe true, maybe not—of Tony's childhood. Tony sat beside her smiling too broadly and nodding along, but this was the Anthony DiNozzo, Sr. show. He kept it going through pouring a second round. Ziva passed on a second drink because she had to drive home.

After draining his second glass some time just before midnight, Senior stood. "Well, I'm going to excuse myself and head off to bed. I'm not as young as you kids. Ziva, lovely as always to see you." He took her hand and kissed it, then exited to the bedroom.

Ziva studied her partner. He gulped down the rest of the martini, set the glass on the table and leaned back against the couch, eyes closed. She watched him in silence for a moment, finally noting, "You are still angry with him."

"Hmph," Tony sighed, not opening his eyes.

"Why?" she asked. "You were happy he gave you that ring, were you not?"

"I should have had it years ago."

"Is that why-?"

"It's not that simple."

"I know," she assured him. "I do." He nodded. "I am simply curious about what has you so melancholy tonight."

"The gin," he quipped.

"You were melancholy before we started drinking gin."

He rolled his head in her direction along the back of the couch and opened his eyes. "The good stuff—that's great. Leaving me the ring. Baking snickerdoodles. Putting up a beautiful Christmas tree."

"It is lovely."

"This trip, it's like he's trying to do all the father/son stuff we were supposed to do, and never did."

"Is that not a good thing?"

He shrugged. "Each of those good things on their own? Sure. But every time we take a step forward, we take another step back."

"I see." Ziva knew all about that kind of paternal relationship.

Tony continued. "Last night, I come home. Apartment smells great. Cookies, you know? Tree lit. Christmas music. Awesome. Open the bedroom door. There's my father, banging my neighbor-"

"No!" Ziva tried unsuccessfully to stifle her laughter.

"Oh yes."

"On your bed?" she gasped.

"Yup," Tony shuddered.

"Guess it's finally time for a bigger bed."

"Yeah, I need to burn that one."

"I cannot believe that you enjoy sleeping on a twin bed. You are too old to sleep on a twin-sized bed."

"It has a very comfortable mattress—I should donate it, not burn it. As satisfying as that would be…"

"I do not doubt that it is comfortable, just…"

"What?"

"It seems…incongruous…with the rest of your place."

"Why?"

"You have this lovely, well-kept apartment. Far more grownup inside than I'd pictured, I'll admit—"

"Hey-" he protested.

"Well…" she chuckled. "That little children's bed seems out of place."

"What did you expect my apartment to look like?" he challenged. "You said far more grown up than you'd pictured. What did you picture?"

"Well, to start, I expected there would be more mess."

"Hard to make much of a mess when you never cook."

"Take out containers can accumulate."

"Cleaning lady comes once a week," he told her.

"I see."

"You expected-"

"I knew it was not a…dive," she sighed. "I knew you lived here, in this decent neighborhood. I have driven you home, remember?"

He cocked his head, contemplating something for a moment as he looked her way. "And you've seen photos."

"Hmm?"

"Or took them?" he queried. Oh. Oh! "You did dossiers on all of us."

"I did," she sighed. "I forgot about that. It seems like a lifetime ago." She had forgotten that she had taken surveillance photos all those years ago.

Tony nodded. "It was messier back then. Before I hired the cleaning lady."

Ziva chuckled. "I honestly do not remember."

They lapsed into silence—a surprisingly comfortable silence given what they had just been talking about.

"Wouldn't it be weird for you, if your father showed up and suddenly wanted to patch things up like nothing had ever happened?" he asked, after a while.

She took a deep breath.

"Would you even want to patch things up?"

"I do not know."

"I was just curious. You always seem to push me to make up with my dad-"

"I know that it is not simple," she told him. "And I know the situation always looks different from the outside."

Tony nodded. "I want to give him a chance, but every time I let him in, he does something to fuck it up." He sighed. "Though this is the hardest he's ever tried…"

"That is something, yes?"

"He's only here through the holiday-"

"Which is now today," she noted.

"Oh, yeah." Tony looked at the clock. "I guess I can try to do the happy father/son thing for another 24 hours."

Ziva chuckled. "I should get going. It is late. Let you get your rest to be ready for him in the morning."

"Maybe we can go a whole day without the usual bullshit," Tony said as he walked her to the door.

"Cautious optimism," She smiled.

"Something like that."

"Merry Christmas, Tony." She patted his shoulder as she left.


End file.
